


Daedric Days and Victories

by Riliame



Category: Elder Scrolls
Genre: Other, References to Goethe, References to Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-08
Updated: 2017-04-08
Packaged: 2018-10-16 09:25:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 19,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10568427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Riliame/pseuds/Riliame
Summary: Each of the seventeen Daedric Princes has a Summoning Day. On their respective days, a new chapter will be added in their honour. The story will also take you through some common lore about the Elder Scrolls universe, fun facts and widespread theories. Most of this are in the first page together with the Messages. Others you discover along the way.





	1. Clavicus Vile - The Faustian Aspects of Elven Kind

(Reason as for why using the Faust legend as inspiration? Well, funny enough, Clavicus Vile is based of Mephistopheles. Anyway, it´s kind of like Faust in reversed order of the acts.)   
 1th of Morning Star/January

"You can't possibly mean it, oh Goddess of Light." The smug grin of the daedra of wishes is unmistakable. "You truly believe the mortal is going to stay by your side... How cute. You're overestimating the elven loyalty and kindness... None of them anything their species is known for." Not that the treacherous prince could call himself any better. 

Meridia furrowed her brows in fury. "I know the light in his heart will not lead him astray, or into your dark, treasonable maze!" 

Vile smirked, mockingly. "Oh really? And if it does, you'll be right there to whip him back again, won't you? You truly are a kindred spirit..."   
Oh well, Meridia was known for her benevolence towards mortals kind, and hatred towards any non-living, wandering creature. But to classify her nature as "good" or "loving" was many steps too far. Merida, however, did either hide this truth within her heart, choose to ignore it fully out, or was simply too little reflective of a person to realise this.   
Clavicus Vile, on his side, was not only fully aware, but had also taken Meridia´s faith in her beloved, precious champion as a direct challenge. The elf had caught his interest.  
It had all started a few months back, of where the elf Methilan Theophilus had single-handedly slaughtered every so-called abomination from his shrine, with an inferno of fire and lighting. He had not stopped to chat, however, but immediately left for Meridia´s shrine, where he had knelt down before the daedra, and prayed for further assistance. Further help, in his goal, in his life´s quest. In the passion of his life. His passion, bapthized in the blood of the undead.   
Meridia thought him her champion. Her own personal plaything, and minion in her deadly game. How incredibly foolish. To think that this elf would not, like all other mortals, bow to the every whim of whoever could offer them something greater, the true wish of their heart. All you needed was the right "conditions", and the right honey-sugared words.   
"My champion will stay faithful to the light! No matter what devilish contracts you may offer! I see the light in him!" Meridia pursued on.   
"You can't even see further than your own nose." Vile scoffed. "But fine, if you have such faith in him, then you won´t mind it tested? A bet, maybe?"  
"I have no doubt he will succeeded in whatever challenge you confront him with!" She replied, steadily. 

"I´ll hold you to that..." Vile smirked. This was his own field now. He knew these games. "Well then, regarding the conditions..." 

 

\-------------- Several Months Later --------------

 

It looked like just another hut in the forest. And it looked just like any other mage living in it. A mage who had enough of the disturbing, distracting urban life, and of whom had decided to join the ranks of countless of other woodland mages.   
It was, too. Just another vampire-hunting mage. He hated mages. Methilan Theophilus was just another emotional victim of this foul curse, which continued to rip families and friends right apart, both sides soaked in blood.   
Only a few years ago, had Methilan searched everywhere for the power needed to vanquish them. He was growing bored, however. The Altmer let out another deep sigh, before leaning back in his chair, closing his eyes for a moment. His revenge was sated, he felt. His thirst for blood. That was the real problem with a vendetta. It would only fill you up for so long, before the thirst was quenched, and you would be left an empty shell with no meaning to your existence, or goal in life whatsoever. Books lied strewn across the room. The floor was barely visible under the pages, plants, and results of failed experiments. He had studied everything he could. But there was nothing left to learn. Nothing left of his research. He had no goal.   
Well, perhaps one, last effort could be made. With a different aspiration in mind.   
Despite the cloak of fur, Methilan shivered as the cold, harsh wind blew over the barren landscape. He saddled his horse, mounted in a rather small stable just outside his cottage, before galloping off towards Whiterun.   
He arrived in town just before sunset. Wasting no time, he quickly mounted the horse and hurried off towards the market. He went straight for the vegetables stand, of where a beautiful dark-haired Imperial was stationed.  
"Good evening, Carlotta." He smiled gently. Carlotta gave him a fierce glare. "I´m closing down now, anything you're going to buy, then I suggest you buy it now."   
Methilan shrugged. "I have food for the week, thank you for your concern." Carlotta rolled her eyes. Taking to note of it, the elf continued. "But I was actually wondering, if it is not too much of a brother, if-"  
"Actually, Methilan, it is a bother, I live a wonderful life on my own, not dependent on any man, so if you don't mind, I´m going to pack down for the day."  
"I could help, if you require."   
"I don´t, but thanks anyway."   
Sighing heavily, Methilan made his way towards the temple. Regardless of his services to Meridia, he still felt loyal to the aedra he was raised to love. Before reaching the temple, however, he sat down under the great tree, up in the Wind District.   
"I wonder..." He mumbled. Yes, he wondered. He wondered if he was destined to slaughter undead for the rest of his life. He wondered why Carlotta Valentia rejected him, despite all his efforts to appear polite, warm and welcoming, much unlike her other admirers. He wondered how in the world he had ended up in the service of a deadra in the first place, and he wondered if he´d be able to continue his research. 

"Geez, that sounds like a lot of worries."  Methilan looked down. Before him stood a great, black hound. "Pardon?" He said. "That sounds like a lot of worries you're mumbling about." He dog repeated. The elf was at loss of words. A talking dog. In Whiterun. A talking, black hound. Then again, it wasn´t the strangest thing he had seen. Or heard.   
"Was I talking out aloud? Oh well, excuse me then. Bad habit." He said. "Tell me, how did you learn the art of speech?"   
The dog set up something resembling a grin. "I´ve been able to talk long before you were born. And I overheard your mumbling too. It sounds like you got a lot of worries. And I think I know someone who might be able to help you." He said.   
"You think you know someone who might be able to help me?" The elf repeated.   
"Oh well, I do know someone who can help you. Follow me!" The dog barked, before running off down the stairs again. Methilan sat still for a moment, processing what the dog had just told him, before setting off after him.   
\------------

 

The dog introduced himself as Barbas along the way, and while Methilan had a struggle keeping up with him, he did the best he could. Whenever he couldn´t, Barbas waited patiently for him a few metres ahead.   
They had kept the pace up for hours, before Barbas ran off into a cave. Methilan, struggling to regain his breath, walked slowly after. He recognised this cave. He had been here only a few months ago, clearing out the vampires.   
Barbas led him safely down to the great statue he had seen last time he was here, but not bothered investigating.   
"This is the shrine of my master." Barbas barked. Methilan ransacked his mind for information about daedric worship.   
"Clavicus Vile?" He asked. "That´s him for sure." The dog replied.   
Methilan carefully approached the statue. "How can he help me?" He said, uncertain. Barbas set up his dog grin once again. "If there´s anyone here who can help you with anything, it´s him. Just be careful what you wish for."   
Methilan nodded. He extended his hand, and touched the statue. The instant he did, he jumped back as a voice suddenly resonated in the cave.   
"Well then, look what the dog dragged in. Another mortal, desperately seeking my aid, in their earthly endeavours." He spoke in a strange accent, but both his words, voice, and the heroic pose his statue was placed in, clearly indicated authority.   
"Well, yeah. He is in need of some help in life. Wanna tell him yourself?" Barbas turned to Methilan.   
Methilan pondered over this. Here he had a chance to get everything he wanted. Vile was one of the most powerful daedra. At the moment, he had nothing. Nothing at all. Not even Meridia could fill the emptiness within him. That this dog would jump out of nowhere with the solution to all his "earthly endeavours" did seem a little too convenient, but had his entire life not been a big, great coincidence? Had he not achieved everything so far, at least got pushed on the right path, by coincidence? Then again, look at where it had led him. Unless this was only the next step of his life, where he could finally settle down?   
He could continue his research, unlock the mysteries of Aetherium. He could get Carlotta to, at least to some extent like him, maybe more? He could also use this chance to get the knowledge he needed to dispose of all undead once and for all? How far did the power of this price go, exactly? ...And what would Meridia think of his choice? He suddenly became worried. Then again, what  good would his soul to do Meridia, if he choose to sell it now? What loyalty did he truly owe her? Wasn´t he free to do what he wished with his soul? Unless Meridia wanted him to serve a greater purpose... If surrendering to her saved lives in the future. If it saved lives in the future working under her, how could he betray her now?   
As if reading his thoughts, the daedra continued. "Look elf, I don't have forever here, well, you don't have forever. So unless your heart desires nothing, then I will take my-"  
"Wait!" Methilan said. "I already serve Meridia, and I don't know wether I do right to betray her or not, or even if this is a betrayal."   
Clavicus Vile laughed mockingly. The sound resonated within the walls. "Meridia, yes. I wonder if you'd willingly bow down to her, had you known her true nature. I think not... She´s an outcast. Like you. She is cast out of Aetherium, you are cast out of your home and college. And what misery causes, is the same for both mortals and immortals. Trust me, I would know..."  
Methilan wasn't sure wether he spoke form experience, or having inflicted it upon both mortals and immortals for a great period of time. "Well then Clavicus Vile, stay and tell me; what good will my soul do to Meridia?"   
Vile was silent for a moment, before speaking slowly, dead serious. "Enlarge her kingdom."   
"Is that why she tempts us, with promises of love?" The elf asked, silently.   
Clavicus Vile replied. "It is a comfort for the wretched to have companions in misery."   
That was all Methilan needed. "Very well then. I´ll strike a bargain with you." He said. 

\----------------

"The mysteries of Aetherium. To see my sister again. To have Carlotta Valentia as wife." Clavicus replied. He looked at Barbas. "One for knowledge, one for living life, and one which´ll claim his life." He smirked. Barbas shook his head. "Geez, I told him to be careful what he wished for."   
"Maybe, but if everyone were, what fun would we take from it? Besides, the elf was even so kind to leave Meridia´s Beacon behind him, in my shrine! I do believe the Glister Witch is a matter of his past now, truly. " The daedra replied. Barbas wasn't quite so sure about that. "I don't know."

"What is it you "don´t know"?"  
"I don't know how wise of an idea this is..."   
"Well I say he gets his wife first." Clavicus replied, leading the conversation back to the wishes.   
As said, as done. When three days had gone, Methilan returned to Whiterun. He found Carlotta near the market stalls, in full work. "Good day, Carlotta." He greeted her. "Morning." She grunted back. Methilan took a deep breath. Then the words simply spilled out of him. "Dear Carlotta, I haven't acted my best lately, I know you deserve so much more. I am merely a mage, and an elf, nothing of which are welcome in the cold climates of Skyrim, but I must confess, that I love you, Carlotta. And I know that this confession could cause me more harm than any whip or hand, should it be rejected." He continued, suddenly feeling confident, as if his words were guided. "But I approach the brink serenely and accept the risk, when I ask you to be mine, in these short days we have before us, if not Death will part our ways. The time has come to prove my words by deeds, whatever you wish for, I will grant it, if only you say yes." He finished.   
Carlotta stood there in absolute shock. Mouth open. What had come of this man? What had changed? He looked so much calmer. There was something in his eyes. Something in those amber eyes that had changed. She cast a quick look around the market. Everyone was staring at them. She looked at Methilan again. He still stood there, calmly. She took a deep breath. His words were true. He had spoken right form his heart. She suddenly didn´t see why she couldn´t give him a chance...?   
"Well, I suppose I could close the stalls early, and well..." She cast an angry look towards their audience, of whom quickly returned to whatever early, mortal tasks they had been in the middle of. "And I do suppose I have some time to spare. I... We could probably spend that time together..." She blushed slightly. What had become of her? Why did she suddenly feel so strange?   
The look on Methilan´s face was of such euphoric, honest happiness, that Carlotta at once felt guilty about not giving him a chance much, much earlier. 

\--------------

 

Only a month later, the bells of the temple rand merrily, as the people gathered to witness the union of two souls.   
"Under the authority of Mara, the Divine of Love, I declare this couple to be wed. I present to the two of you these matching rings, blessed by Mara´s Divine grace. May they protect each of you in your new life together." The priest spoke.   
Methilan looked as happy as never before. Carlotta looked no less merry.   
"Under the authority of Clavicus Vile, the Deadra of Wishes and Trickery, I declare this bet to be won. I present to you, the final proof of mortals kinds´ weakness, should you only offer them the right deal." Vile smirked. "May the elf have my blessing in his earthly endeavours, for as long as they exist..."   
Meridia said nothing. She left without another word.   
The priest wondered why the woman in with had left so early, but mentioning it to Methilan, and he had simple asked who she was. He knew no woman in white.   
Clavicus did, however, but as he looked towards the elf, he knew this deal was not yet over.   
\---------------  
Three years passed. Three years of happiness. And a two-year old daughter. It was not before the same day, of which Methilan had three years earlier proposed, that Methilan was called out to the daedric shrine once more.   
Carlotta came to remember this day with sorrow. The day she had lost the grip on her husband.  
When Methilan returned, he had shut himself inside his room. He did only come out for one meal, at late evenings. Carlotta raised her daughter mostly on her own, while tending to the fields outside they cottage.   
Sometimes, late at night, she would hear him ranting about inside his room, while she lied alone in the bed.   
"Methilan, what are you doing inside of there!? Come out this instant and play with Mila!" She demanded one day. Methilan had opened the door slightly. He had big bags under his eyes, and his hair was a mess. He had given her a peculiar grin, before whispering, "I am not omniscient, but I know a lot..."   
Carlotta did not let him near her daughter.   
\------------------  
"He´s mad." Barbas said.   
"You don't say..." Vile replied. "What? This is going according to plan. What did you think? That mortals can actually handle the secrets of Aetherium?"  
"No... But I can't help but to pity him, just a little." The dog was becoming annoyed with Vile recently. Over the last decades, their arguments had been more frequent.   
"He should have been careful what he wished for."   
Barbas shot a dark look towards his master, of whom was smiling cruelly.   
\-----------------  
It was only three years later, that Methilan sat by his desk, in suicidal thoughts. He was alone. The research published, had made him rich. It was enough money for Carlotta and Mila to move back to Whiterun, and live in the Wind District. But money could not satisfy him. He knew everything, yet he knew nothing.   
Methilan scratched his head. Was he not back where he had started? Knowing everything, yet nothing. He wasn't sure wether he could do this anymore. One year ago, he had played vaguely with the though of entering Apocrypha, but he wasn't sure if he wanted. He would only end up aimlessly wandering around, searching for more knowledge, like so many other souls.   
He laughed madly. What fools! These imbeciles wandering in death, searching among the rows of books in Apocrypha. Hermaeus Mora would not let them find the knowledge before the daedra deemed it worthy, and even so, knowledge would not bring them happiness!   
Methilan stood up, before realising it had been days since he´d last eaten. Where was Carlotta? Had she not cooked? Oh, yes. That´s right. She was in Whiterun. With the daughter he had forgotten the name of. 

Where were he? Ah, yes. The imbeciles of Apocrypha. If there was one thing he had learned; knowledge does not sate your appetite. It does not quench your thirst. It will not bring you happiness. 

When had he last been happy? He could vaguely... Remember many years ago. On a beautiful summer´s evening. Carlotta had looked so beautiful in the sunset. And their daughter had played in the grass.   
It seemed a distant memory. Carlotta was replaced with another female. He could remember her. It was his sister. It was his beautiful, beloved sister. Long before she had descended into vampirism. Long before he had burned her to ashes in wrath.   
It was from the days when she could still bathe in sunlight. And it was from the days when they were all alone in the world, admiring the sunset in Alinor.   
Methilan opened his eyes, looking up at the ceiling. He did not remember having fallen. His mind was slipping from him. Or was he slipping out of his mind? He giggled. No, he had gone insane years ago. And he only saw one way out now. 

"Alas, I have studied philosophy. The law as well as alchemy, and to my sorrow, theology. I studied them well with ardent zeal, yet here I am, a wretched fool, no wiser than I was before." He mumbled, stretching his hand out towards the flask of poison. "Well then, Clavicus Vile, my sister awaits."   
Vile smiled down at him. "Barbas warned you, and I suggest, to you all, you take his warnings to heart, because whatever stories you might have heard about me, they're probably true." He watched the elf die. "But you´ll try anyway, won't you? You'll still believe whatever you seek will make you happy." He sighed. "Mortals are predictable, that way. Learn through experience, even if it kills you. And if it doesn't, then I can think of many fates worse, just for you. But I, in all honesty, won't mind you continue wishing, it makes my existence ever so interesting."


	2. Meridia - The Daedra of Light and Damnation of "Angels"

13th of Morning Star/January

 

It was not like the Glister Witch did not enjoy her time as a daedric princess. Truly, the freedom it gave was refreshing. The Aedra, in connection to the Mundus, was in no position of freedom. They were forever bound to the mortal plane. They could not take a step outside the boundaries of their species, ever, for any step taken wrong might very well lead them to devastation.   
They feared death.   
Meridia did not such thing. But even so, it was insulting. She had a reason for banishment from Aetherius, but it was nonetheless, terribly humiliating and insulting.  
She had spent decades. Centuries. Millenniums, in Oblivion. She loved her realm of the Coloured Rooms. Her plane of bent beams of sun. She respected the Aurorians. She despised the undead. Her racist tendencies towards them had not changed, but rather the opposite. They had become one of the fundamental concepts of which she was recognised of and associated with. 

Now, being an absolute racist is not something the general people of Earth would take pride in. But Tamriel and Oblivion were a different matter. And despite the plague and great fury the existence of these abominations brought her, she could bear it. 

Also meaning, that she was more or less at peace with her existence. Expect for when she wasn't. And she wasn't whenever she became furious with one of her now fellow princes/princesses. 

This time a certain of them had invoked her wrath. The "Devil" of Deals himself. 

But little had she expected, that also others had taken offence for the very same reason. 

Which was exactly why the visit of Xero-Lyg came as an absolute surprise. 

"I did not think it was in your nature to be mingling with Daedra, Xero-Lyg. At least it was not all those millenniums ago..." Meridia remarked sharply. The Aedra furrowed her brows. "You are no Daedra. It is merely a mantle you wear. A mask." She sighed. "I did not think that you had fallen so low, as to forget your face beneath it." 

Meridia narrowed her eyes. "And who are you, who dares to insult me in my very own plane? I have no further dealings with your kind. Begone!" 

Xero-Lyg smiled warily. "You do not change, Merid-Nunda. Do you wish to banish me before you have consulted me of the reason for my presence?"   
Meridia did not. Her mouth tilted in a slight smirk. "You are not here to mock me. You would never dare. There is nothing to mock me for either, for I have achieved more than you could ever accept. You are not here for matters of the past, either. Rather for the future. And you are desperate. So speak quickly. You are already overstaying your welcome..."  
The Aedra´s lips pursed slightly. "You speak true, as I have not come here for matters of the past. To the point then, as we do not have time for idle conversation." She made a slight pause. "One of the sixteen you have befriended and hold so dearly... Have committed a terrible crime. This person has surrendered the secrets of Aetherius into the hands of a mortal."   
Merida remained silent. She scanned her memory and mind, before she found what she was searching for; the information Xero-Lyg had come for. Even so, she made no change of facial expression to prove she knew what the Aedra was talking of.   
Xero-Lyg continued. "What this mortal is to do with the secrets, we do not know. But the damage may be irreversible if we do not act swiftly. There is a reason secrets remains secrets. They are not to be published in volumes, or books. And it is not within the nature of Magna Ge to be conversing with the Daedra," she paused slightly. looking at Meridia. "But now it apparently is in yours."  
Meridia shrugged. "So you have business to settle with one of my fellow princes. What is it in for me?"   
Xero-Lyg narrowed her eyes. "This is for both of us´s best."  
The Glister Witch smiled. "Well, I must admit I´ve always been a greedy one. The information you seek. My help. Even my own conversing with this prince. To whatever extent you need me, then I will have something in reward that equals to it."   
\------ Meanwhile - Another Part of Oblivion ------  
"Now then, Barbas. Isn't he a sight to behold."   
"Sight? He looks like a quite regular mortal soul."  
"No no. Look closer! Can´t you see it?" Clavicus gestured dramatically towards the soul of an Elven man. "It is... My victory over the Lady of Infinite Energies!" He paused. "Hmm... I don´t. How about; my victory over the Glister Witch!" He smiled. "Yes... That will do. The "Devil" of Deals, and His Triumph Over the Glister Witch. Write it down." He added the last words to a Daedra covered in tentacles, writing neatly down whatever was said.   
Barbas sighed. "Look. You don´t have to go all high and mighty over it-"  
"You don´t get it Barbas... I have-"  
"Yes! You've not only infuriated a fellow prince. But you've also committed the knowledge of Aethrius to the mortal world! It was reckless!"  
Clavicus shrugged. "I have a plan. And if you weren't such a pain, then I would've shared it with you!"   
Barbas´ sharp reply was interrupted by a blinding light scattering over the realm. The fields bathed in brightness so clear it could rival the sun. Shortly after, a yellow-skinned Daedra came running in. "My Lord, there is-"  
"Yes. The Lady of Greed has come. To visit. How kind of her... I decide wether or not she´ll be let into my realm, though." Vile sighed, before trotting off. Barbas followed closely after, muttering angry under his breath.

"Meridia." Clavicus greeted her. "How is the remains of your worshippers faring?"   
13th of Morning Star/January

 

Meridia clutched her teeth. She was usually a rather collective, calm person. But the attitude of some princes greatly infuriated her. She lost her head too fast. It was what had claimed her previous champion. It would not happen this time.   
"Clavicus Vile. And Barbas." Barbas´ mood brightened slightly by the fact alone that she recognised him. Most princes choose to ignore, or belittle him. Either out of uncertainty or ignorance.   
Meridia continued on. "You have something I believe it is my right to claim."   
"You´re talking about the elf?" Vile smirked. "Can´t accept defeat?" Meridia replied calmly. "You asked how my worshippers were faring. I have many. They grow strong. But no, I am here for something else entirely." She pursed her lips. "The knowledge of Aetherius."  
Barbas looked at her. "And by what right do you claim it?"   
"The knowledge belongs to the Magna Ge of Aetherius, and Lyg. By that right I claim it. I stand here now, having cast away the mantle as Daedra. Temporarily."   
Barbas was uncertain. Aeadra do not change to Daedra. She did, without the mantle of a Daedra, have as much right as any Magna Ge to reclaim it. He looked up at Vile.   
Clavicus smirked. "You were thrown out. Exiled. Banished. For the very same reason as you stand here now. Both two reasons, actually. But as far as I know, you didn´t turn to me back then. Besides. You are too late. The secrets have already been published, and are circulating around Mundus."  
Meridia narrowed her eyes. "You're lying. The books are not published-" she suddenly stopped herself. In a flash of illumination, she understood. A plan quickly formed in her head. If this worked out well, the only place she needed to visit lastly was Mundus. She changed the course of her sentence. "Your champion´s mind has fallen. It is no longer functional, nor was it from the beginning of."   
Her verbal opponent shrugged, "if you wish to speak with him, then you have no right to do so whatsoever. He´s mine now." A sinister smile once again crossed his features. "What have they given you anyway? To become their courier?"   
Meridia only smiled. "Much more than the effort taken. Now, back to your previous statement. My visit has changed its course. Show me to my previous champion."   
"Did you not hear me?" He replied sourly.   
"I heard you very well. But as I´ve already stated, I call upon my right to retrieve the knowledge. My right, by the name of Merid-Nunda. Show me to him." She smiled softly. Clavicus´ smile faltered slightly. Barbas, however, having full understanding of the situation, came in with a word before him. "Sure then. He´s down by the grassy fields. I´ll let you in." As Meridia passed, Clavicus game him a furious look. Barbas only whispered back. "She understood. It is in her right, and it might repair our damaged relationship." Clavicus shrugged to this. But deep inside of him, he smirked lightly. Barbas was his voice of logic and reason. And so far he hadn't failed him. Even so, it was very irritating. 

Meridia arrived in Clavicus´s plane. Her naked feet met the soft grass, and her vision recognised several yellow-skinned Daedra running across them in the distance. Not too far of, islands floated by. She breathed in the air. Chilly, yet filled with summer and sunlight. Ahead of her she could see her previous champion.   
She would have loved to send him into the deepest, most far-reaching realms of Oblivion. She would have loved to punish him for his treachery by whatever means at hand. But she did not such thing, and instead calmly approached him. His head lifted. His gaze were drawn to her shimmering gestalt. But in his eyes there was no trace of understanding. Nothing that said anything about who the figure before him was.   
"My newest sample," Clavicus said, coming up behind them. "This is your former master. She is here for the secrets of Aetherius. Tell her, but do it quickly, for we have other matters at hand."   
The elf raised from his sitting position. He walked calmly over to Meridia, leaned forward, and whispered into her ear. Meridia´s eyes widened. After all these years. After all this waiting. The events led up to one situation after the other. Finally. And what she had sought; delivered by a mortal. Fate had a strange sense of humour.   
\------ The Coloured Rooms  ------ Several Months Later ------

"Merid- Nunda. Is the task completed?" The Aedra stood in front go her. In her hands she held a shimmering, beautiful light in all the rainbow´s colours. The light was safely looked inside a flask of glass, which was humming with constant energy. Had a physician been looking at the situation, she would have been amazed, and even mesmerised by the processes of physics, biology and chemistry ongoing inside the bottle. But Meridia was just fine able to contain the jubilation, and rapturous feelings of triumph that overwhelmed her. However, she was not able to contain the immense greed and avidity that stood clear in her eyes.   
"Yes. I have the knowledge. All the secrets you desire. Now. Give me my Aedric powers back." She stretched out her hand, but Xero-Lyg held the glass bottle away from her. In a moment, rapacity overwhelmed Meridia. Her eyes gleamed with fury, and she was close to actually attacking her ex-fellow Aedra and rip the bottle from her! But in the last moment, she took a deep breath, and returned to her calm and composed state. 

"You want the secrets first?"   
Xero-Lyg nodded.   
"Well then." Meridia sighed. "So did I, all those years back. And naturally, to submit to your will in your realm comes only as granted. But you are in my realm now, and so I want my share in this first."   
Xero-Lyg hesitated. "And you will give me the books?"   
"Indeed I will."   
"All of them? Every published and unpublished volume in Mundus?"  
Meridia narrowed her eyes. "That was the deal. I am not a deceiver." Not yet... She added in her silent mind. "But as my dear colleague once said; my realm. My rules."   
The Aedra hesitated for one more second. Her mind worked to process the information. Aedra does not change. She reminded herself of. Yet... It felt as if her once dear friend and competitor had done just that... She did not feel as the Merid-Nunda she once knew. But the greed in her eyes were the same, she told herself. She extended the flask to Meridia.   
Meridia snatched it from her hands. If she had refused to give it up, she had the place surrounded by Aurorans. She gestured towards one of them sitting idly behind the throne. The Daedra quickly retreated into one of the rooms, and came back with her hands filled up with books. It had taken months to collect them all, but her mortal servants were faithful. Xero-Lyg took up one of the books and examined it. Meridia counted down.   
3...  
2...  
1...  
"These are not the secrets of Aetherius."   
Meridia turned around. "It´s all the written work I could find on Mundus regarding Aetherius."   
Xero-Lyg read some of the titles. "The Monomyth. Magic From the Sky. These does not detail the secrets of the Magna Ge."   
"You´re forgetting, my dear," Meridia smirked. "You mentioned written work of Aetherius." Xero-Lyg´s eyes widened. "But not all knowledge is written down. You should be more specific in your requests." 

The Aedra gritted her teeth. "Are you out of your mind?! We can't let the mortals have these! The owl dis not ready! Their minds are too fragile! This will only bring about devastation!" She yelled. "Have you gone insane, Merid-Nunda?!"   
"Meridia." She replied silently. "My name is Meridia. I am also known as the Lady of Infinite Energies. The Glister Witch. The Lady of Greed. And I am..." she smirked, holding up her flask. "A Daedra with the powers of the Aedra. I have the Daedric forces of energy, light and life. I have the knowledge of energy, light life including change. And now, the knowledge of Aetherius."   
Xero-Lyg stood there in shock. Meridia decided to take advantage of this by adding; "Knowledge and secrets passed on with spoken words, naturally."  
The Aedra´s face was twisted in fury. She directed a shivering finger towards Meridia. "You... You have no right to hold that flask."   
"I am the only one with the right!" Meridia laughed. "And back to what I told you, not too long ago. You are overstaying your welcome." She cast Xero-Lyg a mocking glance. "Begone. You are not welcome in my Daedric realm of Oblivion; the Coloured Rooms."   
The Aurorans stormed in, surrounding the Aedra. Xero-Lyg felt Aetherius pull her towards it. She had to return now. She would not fall as low as Meridia. She gritted her teeth. She would not or ever again converse with any Daedric creature.   
And by that, she vanished from Oblivion.   
Meridia stood left, surrounded by her faithful Daedra. She held the bottle in her hands, examining it with a look filled with serenity. "After all these years..." She whispered to herself.


	3. Sheogorath - The Sixteenth Accord of Madness

(Note: The story is built on the theory that the 16th accord details the Madgod himself.)

2\. Sun´s Dawn/February

 

The room was shrouded in shadows. He was only able to make out the faint contours of furniture, and whatever the dim light cast in through a small gap between the curtains could illuminate. But she stood there, clear as the day. A morbid, sadistic smile painting her hellish features. She was as taken straight out of a nightmare. His nightmare. 

Sheogorath sighed, and turned around in the bed. He didn´t feel like facing her. Day and night, whatever waking minute, she was upon him. Taunting, silently following, always watching, He knew very well what she was doing there, but he refused to acknowledge her. He pretended she did not exist, and shut his ears for her non-existent, silent words. That was a quite silly and naïve response, because both of them knew it would´nt do. She could wait. 

Sheogorath cast another gaze towards her. She remained the same. "Constant. Not ever changing." He thought, before sighing. "Haskill!" He yelled. He waited for a few seconds, before the thought; "You could just summon him instead. He tends to like that. Especially during nighttime." Made its entrance. He waved his hand, and in a poff of violet smoke, the Chamberlain stood there. "Yes, My Lord?" He asked. 

"I want my medicine." Sheogorath replied sourly. Haskill sighed. "My Lord, we know both that it is not healthy for-"

"I won´t die either!" The Daedra bursted out with, cutting his Chamberlain off. In these situations, the Madgod was not to be reasoned with. Not that he ever was any other time, but he had a rather low amount of patience particularly during nighttime. Haskill nodded, and sighed heavily, before disappearing. He entered shortly after carrying a small glass bottle containing a suspicious green liquid. 

The Madgod took his time, taking small sips of it. Haskill watched him patiently. Before emptying the bottle, Sheogorath´s eyes darted towards the woman. She was gone. He sighed heavily, before giggling slightly. He there the empty bottle over to Hakill. "Is the pain gone now, My Lord?" 

"Pain!?" He giggled. "What pain? I´ve never felt better!" He fell over the blankets of the bed again. 

"So you are feeling better then." 

"Of course not! I always feel well! Don´t come here, saying anything else!" The Madgod yelled. "Very well then, My Lord. Will you be going to sleep now, then?" The answer was laughter. "Sleep? Oh dear Haskill, you cam joke... We´re having a party! Summon the manic, demented, and sane! If there are any of them around here..." He pondered. "Have you seen any sane around lately?" 

"No, My Lord." 

"Strange. Wherever could they have gone...? Ah, well. Not matter." He clapped, before jumping out of the bed. "We´re having a party. Good for getting your mind off unpleasantries. Well then, why re you still standing there!?" Haskill blinked. This was new. Not completely unexpected, but new. Wether it was for the better or worse remained to be seen. Said Lord continued on rambling, while, quite dizzy, attempt on marching down the corridor. "Summon the Daedra! Prepare the tarts! get the dancers in, and the che-" Haskill ran over to catch his Lord before he hit the floor. His balance was apparently not the best at the moment. Sheogorath looked up at Haskill. "Haskill. Have I ever told you that you have beautiful eyes?" 

"No, My Lord. Thank you." 

"Well you have. Nice and purple. Shining."

Haskill decided he wouldn't invoke his fury further by stating that his eyes in truth were a dark, dark shade of brown. 

\------------------------------------------------

As the Madgod had declared, the dancers were brought in, the tables were decorated, and the sleepy Court of Madness dragged out of their beds. Only the Duchess of Mania; Duchess Alessia Kingsley, stood tall in the doorway, and quite awake. She shot the Madgod a dreaming smile, before trotting over to him. Sheogorath himself was currently stationed in his throne, looking over the party and surprised, sleep-deprived guests. 

"Having trouble sleeping, My Lord?" Alessia´s dark blue eyes gleamed with melancholy. "Not at all! Why would I have? I´m throwing a party." The Madgod gleefully replied, paying his troubles Duchess no heed. "That much is obvious..." She mumbled. Over the music there was no way he could hear her, and so she wandered off. 

Alessia was quite troubled by her Lord´s recent behaviour, although she´d very much like to talk to him. Voice her opinion. Get closer to him. But she lost her words the instant she attempted to form them. She sighed, before drowning her thoughts in red wine. When she looked up again, the Lord was already led out on the dance floor with seductive smiles and words. Her brows furrowed. He was in no condition to dance. But the young dancers took well care of him out there, she saw, and with this in mind, there was no reason to worry for the prince. She was not usually like this, she pondered. She had never had a habit of melancholic thinking, or ever taken demented thoughts into consideration. But the book, safely tucked away under her bed. She had not discovered it before now, and had not read it before now. It was quite well written, but she could no keep her mind away from it. Her thoughts had drifted elsewhere. 

Another few minutes later, the prince dumped down by the table. His eyes met a pair of blue ones, staring intently at him. "Yes?" He grinned. The Duchess stared at him for a moment longer, before taking a deep breath. "Have you read any good books lately? I have." Sheogorath smiled "books? Yes of course! A big lot of them too! You get good time for reading over the centuries, just ask good ol´ Herma-Mora. To talk about him... Poor prince, Daedra of memory. Must be hard with a memory like that. All those unpleasantries and he just can't get it off his head!" 

"I´ve read The Liturgy of Pain." She interrupted. Sheogorath fell silent. "It was quite well. Fascinating. Makes one think." The Madgod´s smile tensed. "What do you think about pain, My Lord? Can you run from it?" Sheogorath sat silent for another second. "Alessia, darling. What have you been poking around in?" 

"The library." She answered immediately. "We don´t have a library." He replied. "I have," she smiled, and gestured towards her head. Sheogorath returned the smile. "Well what knowledge have you digged out from that pretty little head of yours, then?" 

Alessia fell silent, but not for long. "I have been wondering... What is depression, really?" The Madgod tilted his head and looked at her. "Good question. And you´re sure it´s not a question for the Duke of Dementia?" 

"No, My Lord, it is for you." 

Sheogorath´s smile wavered, "it´s different for everyone." 

"But you exist in everyone." 

"It is different," he nodded, "for everyone. A dark spiral, right down, down and down it goes. For others a straight way down and through every bottom there is. Or a battle. An evil circle, a void of emptiness, or one filled with pain. For some every day is a masquerade." He shrugged. "Taking away all the fun and music, of course..." 

"Unbeatable?" She asked. He looked strangely at her. "Of course you can beat it. But where are ye gonna get the strength from?" 

Alessia pondered over this. "And you can´t outrun it, can you." she murmured. "That wasn´t a question." He answered, "and for being a manic, you're certainly bringing the mood down during a party." He looked despondent down on the table.

"I´m trying to understand the world." She replied, gazing over the party without taking notice of it. Sheogorath nodded. "Of course you are. Good luck. Even after all these millenniums I still can't make sense of it, and so I´ve come to the conclusion that it doesn't make sense at all! At least I haven't found sense yet, and I dont think I want to, because everything will be boring again once your win." 

"But if you've found the conclusion you've already won," she replied. 

"How would I know it´s right? It´s probably not. Poor Hermaeus Mora probably has the answer. What a terrible bore it must be to be him."

Alessia nodded, "probably. He knows everything before it happens. Never an ounce of excitement. He even knows when he will acquire the knowledge he doesn't have, so in a way, he already knows what he doesn't know." 

The Madgod smiled. "Not a lot of people pity Daedric princes," he said. The Duchess replied; "I pity you very much." 

Alessia looked at him. Truly looked at him. She attempted to see the person behind the mask. The person behind that merry expression he always had. Behind the golden eyes. Gold, the colour of riches. The colour of merriment, and the colour of royals. Was that what understanding was? She wondered. To see? Or maybe the blind understand even more of the world than we do. What´s the difference between understanding and knowing...? There were so many questions. Like who in the Isles is he? 

"You know, it´s simpler if ye stop thinking too hard about it." He smiled. 

"Huh?" She looked surprised. 

"Don´t think too hard about it." He looked to his left, towards something in a dark corner. His smile widened. He shot his partner in conversation said smile, before raising from the chair and wandering towards the corner. 

\------------------------------------------------------------

There she stood. As if she'd always been there. Maybe she had. Although he could've sworn she had only appeared days ago. But his mind wasn't one of the most reliable, he thought. 

Sheogorath raised from the table. He took slow steps, evading the dancers and fellow madmen. He felt terrible. For every step closer, despair clutched his heart. 

The figure faced him calmly. She did not move, nor even breathe. Only her signature smile of sadism, and eyes locked on him betrayed her presence. 

She didn't greet him formally. 

She didn't need to. 

She said nothing at all. 

Sheogorath was the first to speak. 

"Why aren't your gone yet?" 

She didn't reply. 

"I'm guessing you're not going away anytime soon." He remarked. 

Still, she remained silent. 

"Not that I'd want you to." 

A movement. Only a small one. Her smile faltered. For only a second. 

 

\-----------------------------------

 

When Sheogorath woke up the next night, he met her eyes. He smiled, and gestured for her to sit down. At first, nothing happened at all. She stood there, and in her presence, Sheogorath felt only terrible pain, anguish, sorrow and melancholy. It clutched his heart. Tore him apart. "I could make a nice poem about that..." His thoughts wandered again. 

He smiled. 

The next night, she had come closer to his bed. Her smile was the same, but his wasn't. Sheogorath grinned. He gestured for her to sit. She did not. 

I would like to say that the process repeated itself, unchanging, but that would've been a lie. Because the woman edged closer for every passing night, and the Madgod met her eyes. It was the night before she finally decided to have a seat. That night before, their eyes locked together, and they sat there for hours on end. That night her gaze wavered. She looked away. 

"You finally sat down." Sheogorath noted, although there was no reason to. No reason to state the obvious. She sat there. Silently as always.

\------------------------------------

Now, some of you might not understand why it is such a victory. After all, it seems like a perfectly normal thing to do. Sit down, I mean. Not waking up to people staring at you in the middle of the night. 

The slight problem is that she isn't "people". 

I'm quite sure some of you have figured it out by now. 

Anyway, this person who isn't a person and Sheogorath did not get along. They weren't negative of one another, but not positive either. She were simply there, and he had already been there. As the days went on, she tagged along. She was there during his daily procedure of sitting on the throne. She was there when he ate, when he slept, when he didn't sleep, and when he was in a state neither of consciousness of unconsciousness.

It may sound strange. But trust me, it´s all simpler if you don´t think too hard about it.

It happened during a game of chess. She was in the lead. His queen was cornered, trapped in between a pawn, knight and tower. The game didn´t look to good, although for Sheogorath, it was the brightest view in years and decades. 

"Check." Her voice was raspy. Melodic. Calm. Furious. Sheogorath smiled. He moved his pawn in an unserious attempt of evading the attack. 

"Check mate." She mumbled. It was the first words she had ever said. Before she could withdraw her hand from the piece on the board, he grasped it. It was cold. But it was there. His smile widened. 

"Another victory. As ever." She smiled. "As ever?" Sheogorath smirked, "my dear, I think you're overestimating both yer abilities, and my brain." 

"It's all the same," she shrugged. 

Sheogorath's fingers twitched slightly. Every minute in her presence brought him closer to desperation. Or was it seconds? Hours? What was time to begin with? Maybe once he had known. He would be sure to ask Haskill later, if this "later" even existed. 

"Your thoughts are led astray again." She commented.

"They run off on their own, yes." He replied. 

"Living lives on their own..." She mumbled. Sheogorath studied her. Grotesque forms. Smile of sadism. But of flesh and blood. She was there. He was there. But it was all the same. 

"Do you wish to play again?" She asked.

"Not at all," he sighed. "I am done with this game."

"After one defeat?" 

He grinned, "you are the one facing defeat. Soon your blood will paint the floors, I'll rip out your heart, gouge out your eyes, and dance on your grave. Given I'm kind enough to grant ye one. Maybe I will. Just for the dancing, I mean." He pondered. 

"So you will join me in the grave?" She smiled. That was it. He couldn't take it.

"Hah!" He laughed, "you never understood, did you?!" Suddenly he stood over her, knife in hand. Her eyes widened in fear. "Sheo-"

The floor was dyed red. A hundred different shades of red. There was light red, dark red, crimson red, all depending on where the paint was scattered. It all happened so fast. But things break fast. 

His hands were red. He smiled. It was quite beautiful. Red was a shade of battle and victory. He had won. 

It happened something unexpected. His foe embraced him, the blade digging deeper into her flesh as she moved closer. He felt her arms around him, they were warm, as her breath.

The breathing stopped. 

Sheogorath's eyes darted to the person in his arms. Blonde hair. Blue dress. 

He let go of her. She sank down on the floor, eyes closed. The knife was firmly planted in her stomach. 

"M... My Lord." The Mazken stammered, "what... Why...?" 

Alessia lied dead before him. 

"My Lord. Why did you kill her?" The Mazken asked. Sheogorath turned to her, grinning madly. "I didn't kill her. I killed my own pain." The pondered, "then again. She was me, I was her, and so I killed her. Butchered them both!" He laughed. A manic laughter, that echoed within the walls of the room, within the borders of the Isles, and made the Mazken quiver in fear. 

He was free! From the pain, from the misery, despair, depression and despondent darkness! She was dead, quite so, yes! She never understood did she? No. He laughed. She was gone. And so was the Duchess. She was dead, and would not wake again. But what did that matter? She would be replaced by a new one. And another one after that, following another one, and another one, and another one, all until only he was left, laughing on the graveyard over a dead realm. Laughing over the corpses who could never wake, regardless of whatever wonderful miracles he were ever to perform! Weeping on the graveyard over the corpses and ruins...

Sheogorath sank to his knees. Weeping. He clutched the corpse of his dead duchess, stroked her hair tenderly. "Farewell." He whispered. He closed his eyes, and rested his head on her chest. "Farewell." It´s a sad word. But at times, it´s all you need. 

"Dear. This is going to be a mess to clean up. It's even gotten into the carpet." 

Sheogorath lit up. Haskill. Yes. Haskill. Eternal. Always there. Had been him. He smiled. "Then I suggest you get to work. Lick it up properly. Wouldn't want any of it to go to waste. Do we have any vampires in the Isles? I just found a job for them." He remarked. 

Sheogorath raised from his position to face his Chamberlain. "Haskill. Why is Duchess Alessia dead?" 

"You killed her, Sir." 

"Why?" 

"She came running towards you, Sir. Probably thought she'd help. You were about to trip over the chess board you were playing with." 

"I see." 

He looked at her. 

"Well then. Find a new Duchess. Alessia's got a daughter, doesn't she?" 

"Yes, she has, My Lord." Haskill paused. "And I take it that I will have to put away the medicine again?" 

Sheogorath smiled. "We'll save it for another time, yes." 


	4. Sanguine - The Wines of Sin

(Note: The story is built on the theory that the 16th accord details the Madgod himself.)

2\. Sun´s Dawn/February

 

The room was shrouded in shadows. He was only able to make out the faint contours of furniture, and whatever the dim light cast in through a small gap between the curtains could illuminate. But she stood there, clear as the day. A morbid, sadistic smile painting her hellish features. She was as taken straight out of a nightmare. His nightmare. 

Sheogorath sighed, and turned around in the bed. He didn´t feel like facing her. Day and night, whatever waking minute, she was upon him. Taunting, silently following, always watching, He knew very well what she was doing there, but he refused to acknowledge her. He pretended she did not exist, and shut his ears for her non-existent, silent words. That was a quite silly and naïve response, because both of them knew it would´nt do. She could wait. 

Sheogorath cast another gaze towards her. She remained the same. "Constant. Not ever changing." He thought, before sighing. "Haskill!" He yelled. He waited for a few seconds, before the thought; "You could just summon him instead. He tends to like that. Especially during nighttime." Made its entrance. He waved his hand, and in a poff of violet smoke, the Chamberlain stood there. "Yes, My Lord?" He asked. 

"I want my medicine." Sheogorath replied sourly. Haskill sighed. "My Lord, we know both that it is not healthy for-"

"I won´t die either!" The Daedra bursted out with, cutting his Chamberlain off. In these situations, the Madgod was not to be reasoned with. Not that he ever was any other time, but he had a rather low amount of patience particularly during nighttime. Haskill nodded, and sighed heavily, before disappearing. He entered shortly after carrying a small glass bottle containing a suspicious green liquid. 

The Madgod took his time, taking small sips of it. Haskill watched him patiently. Before emptying the bottle, Sheogorath´s eyes darted towards the woman. She was gone. He sighed heavily, before giggling slightly. He there the empty bottle over to Hakill. "Is the pain gone now, My Lord?" 

"Pain!?" He giggled. "What pain? I´ve never felt better!" He fell over the blankets of the bed again. 

"So you are feeling better then." 

"Of course not! I always feel well! Don´t come here, saying anything else!" The Madgod yelled. "Very well then, My Lord. Will you be going to sleep now, then?" The answer was laughter. "Sleep? Oh dear Haskill, you cam joke... We´re having a party! Summon the manic, demented, and sane! If there are any of them around here..." He pondered. "Have you seen any sane around lately?" 

"No, My Lord." 

"Strange. Wherever could they have gone...? Ah, well. Not matter." He clapped, before jumping out of the bed. "We´re having a party. Good for getting your mind off unpleasantries. Well then, why re you still standing there!?" Haskill blinked. This was new. Not completely unexpected, but new. Wether it was for the better or worse remained to be seen. Said Lord continued on rambling, while, quite dizzy, attempt on marching down the corridor. "Summon the Daedra! Prepare the tarts! get the dancers in, and the che-" Haskill ran over to catch his Lord before he hit the floor. His balance was apparently not the best at the moment. Sheogorath looked up at Haskill. "Haskill. Have I ever told you that you have beautiful eyes?" 

"No, My Lord. Thank you." 

"Well you have. Nice and purple. Shining."

Haskill decided he wouldn't invoke his fury further by stating that his eyes in truth were a dark, dark shade of brown. 

\------------------------------------------------

As the Madgod had declared, the dancers were brought in, the tables were decorated, and the sleepy Court of Madness dragged out of their beds. Only the Duchess of Mania; Duchess Alessia Kingsley, stood tall in the doorway, and quite awake. She shot the Madgod a dreaming smile, before trotting over to him. Sheogorath himself was currently stationed in his throne, looking over the party and surprised, sleep-deprived guests. 

"Having trouble sleeping, My Lord?" Alessia´s dark blue eyes gleamed with melancholy. "Not at all! Why would I have? I´m throwing a party." The Madgod gleefully replied, paying his troubles Duchess no heed. "That much is obvious..." She mumbled. Over the music there was no way he could hear her, and so she wandered off. 

Alessia was quite troubled by her Lord´s recent behaviour, although she´d very much like to talk to him. Voice her opinion. Get closer to him. But she lost her words the instant she attempted to form them. She sighed, before drowning her thoughts in red wine. When she looked up again, the Lord was already led out on the dance floor with seductive smiles and words. Her brows furrowed. He was in no condition to dance. But the young dancers took well care of him out there, she saw, and with this in mind, there was no reason to worry for the prince. She was not usually like this, she pondered. She had never had a habit of melancholic thinking, or ever taken demented thoughts into consideration. But the book, safely tucked away under her bed. She had not discovered it before now, and had not read it before now. It was quite well written, but she could no keep her mind away from it. Her thoughts had drifted elsewhere. 

Another few minutes later, the prince dumped down by the table. His eyes met a pair of blue ones, staring intently at him. "Yes?" He grinned. The Duchess stared at him for a moment longer, before taking a deep breath. "Have you read any good books lately? I have." Sheogorath smiled "books? Yes of course! A big lot of them too! You get good time for reading over the centuries, just ask good ol´ Herma-Mora. To talk about him... Poor prince, Daedra of memory. Must be hard with a memory like that. All those unpleasantries and he just can't get it off his head!" 

"I´ve read The Liturgy of Pain." She interrupted. Sheogorath fell silent. "It was quite well. Fascinating. Makes one think." The Madgod´s smile tensed. "What do you think about pain, My Lord? Can you run from it?" Sheogorath sat silent for another second. "Alessia, darling. What have you been poking around in?" 

"The library." She answered immediately. "We don´t have a library." He replied. "I have," she smiled, and gestured towards her head. Sheogorath returned the smile. "Well what knowledge have you digged out from that pretty little head of yours, then?" 

Alessia fell silent, but not for long. "I have been wondering... What is depression, really?" The Madgod tilted his head and looked at her. "Good question. And you´re sure it´s not a question for the Duke of Dementia?" 

"No, My Lord, it is for you." 

Sheogorath´s smile wavered, "it´s different for everyone." 

"But you exist in everyone." 

"It is different," he nodded, "for everyone. A dark spiral, right down, down and down it goes. For others a straight way down and through every bottom there is. Or a battle. An evil circle, a void of emptiness, or one filled with pain. For some every day is a masquerade." He shrugged. "Taking away all the fun and music, of course..." 

"Unbeatable?" She asked. He looked strangely at her. "Of course you can beat it. But where are ye gonna get the strength from?" 

Alessia pondered over this. "And you can´t outrun it, can you." she murmured. "That wasn´t a question." He answered, "and for being a manic, you're certainly bringing the mood down during a party." He looked despondent down on the table.

"I´m trying to understand the world." She replied, gazing over the party without taking notice of it. Sheogorath nodded. "Of course you are. Good luck. Even after all these millenniums I still can't make sense of it, and so I´ve come to the conclusion that it doesn't make sense at all! At least I haven't found sense yet, and I dont think I want to, because everything will be boring again once your win." 

"But if you've found the conclusion you've already won," she replied. 

"How would I know it´s right? It´s probably not. Poor Hermaeus Mora probably has the answer. What a terrible bore it must be to be him."

Alessia nodded, "probably. He knows everything before it happens. Never an ounce of excitement. He even knows when he will acquire the knowledge he doesn't have, so in a way, he already knows what he doesn't know." 

The Madgod smiled. "Not a lot of people pity Daedric princes," he said. The Duchess replied; "I pity you very much." 

Alessia looked at him. Truly looked at him. She attempted to see the person behind the mask. The person behind that merry expression he always had. Behind the golden eyes. Gold, the colour of riches. The colour of merriment, and the colour of royals. Was that what understanding was? She wondered. To see? Or maybe the blind understand even more of the world than we do. What´s the difference between understanding and knowing...? There were so many questions. Like who in the Isles is he? 

"You know, it´s simpler if ye stop thinking too hard about it." He smiled. 

"Huh?" She looked surprised. 

"Don´t think too hard about it." He looked to his left, towards something in a dark corner. His smile widened. He shot his partner in conversation said smile, before raising from the chair and wandering towards the corner. 

\------------------------------------------------------------

There she stood. As if she'd always been there. Maybe she had. Although he could've sworn she had only appeared days ago. But his mind wasn't one of the most reliable, he thought. 

Sheogorath raised from the table. He took slow steps, evading the dancers and fellow madmen. He felt terrible. For every step closer, despair clutched his heart. 

The figure faced him calmly. She did not move, nor even breathe. Only her signature smile of sadism, and eyes locked on him betrayed her presence. 

She didn't greet him formally. 

She didn't need to. 

She said nothing at all. 

Sheogorath was the first to speak. 

"Why aren't your gone yet?" 

She didn't reply. 

"I'm guessing you're not going away anytime soon." He remarked. 

Still, she remained silent. 

"Not that I'd want you to." 

A movement. Only a small one. Her smile faltered. For only a second. 

 

\-----------------------------------

 

When Sheogorath woke up the next night, he met her eyes. He smiled, and gestured for her to sit down. At first, nothing happened at all. She stood there, and in her presence, Sheogorath felt only terrible pain, anguish, sorrow and melancholy. It clutched his heart. Tore him apart. "I could make a nice poem about that..." His thoughts wandered again. 

He smiled. 

The next night, she had come closer to his bed. Her smile was the same, but his wasn't. Sheogorath grinned. He gestured for her to sit. She did not. 

I would like to say that the process repeated itself, unchanging, but that would've been a lie. Because the woman edged closer for every passing night, and the Madgod met her eyes. It was the night before she finally decided to have a seat. That night before, their eyes locked together, and they sat there for hours on end. That night her gaze wavered. She looked away. 

"You finally sat down." Sheogorath noted, although there was no reason to. No reason to state the obvious. She sat there. Silently as always.

\------------------------------------

Now, some of you might not understand why it is such a victory. After all, it seems like a perfectly normal thing to do. Sit down, I mean. Not waking up to people staring at you in the middle of the night. 

The slight problem is that she isn't "people". 

I'm quite sure some of you have figured it out by now. 

Anyway, this person who isn't a person and Sheogorath did not get along. They weren't negative of one another, but not positive either. She were simply there, and he had already been there. As the days went on, she tagged along. She was there during his daily procedure of sitting on the throne. She was there when he ate, when he slept, when he didn't sleep, and when he was in a state neither of consciousness of unconsciousness.

It may sound strange. But trust me, it´s all simpler if you don´t think too hard about it.

It happened during a game of chess. She was in the lead. His queen was cornered, trapped in between a pawn, knight and tower. The game didn´t look to good, although for Sheogorath, it was the brightest view in years and decades. 

"Check." Her voice was raspy. Melodic. Calm. Furious. Sheogorath smiled. He moved his pawn in an unserious attempt of evading the attack. 

"Check mate." She mumbled. It was the first words she had ever said. Before she could withdraw her hand from the piece on the board, he grasped it. It was cold. But it was there. His smile widened. 

"Another victory. As ever." She smiled. "As ever?" Sheogorath smirked, "my dear, I think you're overestimating both yer abilities, and my brain." 

"It's all the same," she shrugged. 

Sheogorath's fingers twitched slightly. Every minute in her presence brought him closer to desperation. Or was it seconds? Hours? What was time to begin with? Maybe once he had known. He would be sure to ask Haskill later, if this "later" even existed. 

"Your thoughts are led astray again." She commented.

"They run off on their own, yes." He replied. 

"Living lives on their own..." She mumbled. Sheogorath studied her. Grotesque forms. Smile of sadism. But of flesh and blood. She was there. He was there. But it was all the same. 

"Do you wish to play again?" She asked.

"Not at all," he sighed. "I am done with this game."

"After one defeat?" 

He grinned, "you are the one facing defeat. Soon your blood will paint the floors, I'll rip out your heart, gouge out your eyes, and dance on your grave. Given I'm kind enough to grant ye one. Maybe I will. Just for the dancing, I mean." He pondered. 

"So you will join me in the grave?" She smiled. That was it. He couldn't take it.

"Hah!" He laughed, "you never understood, did you?!" Suddenly he stood over her, knife in hand. Her eyes widened in fear. "Sheo-"

The floor was dyed red. A hundred different shades of red. There was light red, dark red, crimson red, all depending on where the paint was scattered. It all happened so fast. But things break fast. 

His hands were red. He smiled. It was quite beautiful. Red was a shade of battle and victory. He had won. 

It happened something unexpected. His foe embraced him, the blade digging deeper into her flesh as she moved closer. He felt her arms around him, they were warm, as her breath.

The breathing stopped. 

Sheogorath's eyes darted to the person in his arms. Blonde hair. Blue dress. 

He let go of her. She sank down on the floor, eyes closed. The knife was firmly planted in her stomach. 

"M... My Lord." The Mazken stammered, "what... Why...?" 

Alessia lied dead before him. 

"My Lord. Why did you kill her?" The Mazken asked. Sheogorath turned to her, grinning madly. "I didn't kill her. I killed my own pain." The pondered, "then again. She was me, I was her, and so I killed her. Butchered them both!" He laughed. A manic laughter, that echoed within the walls of the room, within the borders of the Isles, and made the Mazken quiver in fear. 

He was free! From the pain, from the misery, despair, depression and despondent darkness! She was dead, quite so, yes! She never understood did she? No. He laughed. She was gone. And so was the Duchess. She was dead, and would not wake again. But what did that matter? She would be replaced by a new one. And another one after that, following another one, and another one, and another one, all until only he was left, laughing on the graveyard over a dead realm. Laughing over the corpses who could never wake, regardless of whatever wonderful miracles he were ever to perform! Weeping on the graveyard over the corpses and ruins...

Sheogorath sank to his knees. Weeping. He clutched the corpse of his dead duchess, stroked her hair tenderly. "Farewell." He whispered. He closed his eyes, and rested his head on her chest. "Farewell." It´s a sad word. But at times, it´s all you need. 

"Dear. This is going to be a mess to clean up. It's even gotten into the carpet." 

Sheogorath lit up. Haskill. Yes. Haskill. Eternal. Always there. Had been him. He smiled. "Then I suggest you get to work. Lick it up properly. Wouldn't want any of it to go to waste. Do we have any vampires in the Isles? I just found a job for them." He remarked. 

Sheogorath raised from his position to face his Chamberlain. "Haskill. Why is Duchess Alessia dead?" 

"You killed her, Sir." 

"Why?" 

"She came running towards you, Sir. Probably thought she'd help. You were about to trip over the chess board you were playing with." 

"I see." 

He looked at her. 

"Well then. Find a new Duchess. Alessia's got a daughter, doesn't she?" 

"Yes, she has, My Lord." Haskill paused. "And I take it that I will have to put away the medicine again?" 

Sheogorath smiled. "We'll save it for another time, yes." 


	5. Hermaeus Mora - The Birth of Games Between "Gods"

(Based on the theory of that the Dragonborn is a Shezzarine, a manifestation of Shor/Lorkhan. If you do not know this theory, but wish to, please check in Messages. It´s under the Daedric fun facts. I also want to notify you of the incorrect title, seeing as Daedra are Aedra are not gods.)

"Thank you so much, ma´am!"

"I can´t believe such good spirits still reside in our world!"

"Such kindness is unheard of in these darker times." 

"Please, I´ve heard you can help." 

"Excuse me, miss, are you that kind hero?"

"Please, miss Eldom, isn´t there anything you can do?" 

The pleas reached out to her. She took them to her heart, kept them, and refused to let them go. Words. All these words. Words of gratitude, words of harm, words of kindness, words of hope, and words of despair. It was true. Words win wars. Words changes worlds. And she was not talking of the Dragon language, Dovahzuul. She knew the language. She knew the words. She knew every word in every language ever uttered. She knew how to bend them. She knew how to manipulate them. She knew how to crush even the most stoic warrior with them, and you don't even need to Shout them. 

But nothing had prepared her for, and not could she ever have expected. "I know what you are. Save us." He was about eight. A small, Nord. He had a wild bush of black hair, with two clear blue eyes shining underneath his bangs. He was thin, with a slight blue hue to his skin. 

She said nothing in reply. He would get to the point soon enough, there was no need to use words of her own. Neither did she express her surprise as he continued. "You´re a Shezzarine. You are the Trickster. Our land is defiled by a Traitor. Save us." He said.

"You are the son of the Nord miner and Dunmer healer, aren't you?" She answered slowly. "Yes you are. Magnus." Her lips twisted into a cruel smile. "What a name..." The boy nodded. "Yes, but who I am is of no importance. In another few years, I´ll be gone forever, and you won't even know I am." 

That was a lie. Many seasons after this would come. Many hundreds of years. Many thousands of years. But Shor would still look back at this meeting and cherish the memory for the moment, and curse it in the next.

"The Traitor... I like him already..." She smiled. "He´s the one they're building a shrine for," Magnus answered. Tekla shot him a suspicious look. "Where do you have this knowledge from, Magnus?" 

"I´ve seen it myself. I´ve seen them go there. I´ve heard their chants. I´ve found the book." He clutched a book close to his chest, yes. She could make out the title. The Traitor and the Guardian. It was a red, leathery bound book. A little piece of a dark past that had survived this long. "What is the name of the Traitor?" She asked. "It´s lost in the history." He answered. 

Tekla shrugged. If course it was. As if there would be anyone left to remember his name. She smiled. No one left. Other than that demon for knowledge. But, she sighed, it seemed he was eager to change that. "You're saying he will return? That´s not too surprising." She replied sourly. "No it´s not, but he won´t either. You're going to stop him." 

"You seem awfully confident that I will." 

"I believe in you." She met his eyes. His eyes shone with confidence and hope. As if she could refuse. This would again be a time to remind Tamriel of her presence, even if very few understood it. It seems that Magnus was one of those few. She nodded. "Right then...." Tekla turned, and began to walk. At first she wasn't quite sure of where she was walking... If she was to stop the Traitor, she guessed she would need a connection to the Daedra. She could go to the Temple, but it was too far off at the moment. She was closer to the magician and scholar living in the giant mushroom. 

The giant mushrooms, of which she had forgotten the name of, (or never bothered to learn them), loomed above her. The air smelled of ashes and fire, she noted. It was nice to walk around on her planet like this, simply inhaling the scent of the world, or entering giant mushrooms in search for other-worldly presences and sorcerers. 

Neloth was bent over his alchemy table, quite busy dissecting a Briarheart. She walked quietly up behind him to watch him work. 

"Did you need something?" He mumbled without losing up. Tekla nodded, before realising he wasn't watching her. So instead she said: "Yes. What do you know of Black Books?" Neloth shot her a suspicious glance, "what about it?" 

"I´m going to enter the realm of Hermaeus Mora." She replied. "Why...?" Neloth sighed, knowing she would soon find herself in dire trouble. "The Traitor has an appointment with his destruction there." She explained, "so where is the closest Black Book?" 

Neloth finally straightened up to look at her. "Black Books are easy to find, if you know how to locate them. But I ran you not to cross with the demon of knowledge, because if you are attempting to crush one of his servants, he will already know..." 

"If he already knew, and cared, he would have stopped me." 

"Unless you're walking straight into a trap." 

"It´s not your job to dictate my life, I do what I want, whenever I want," she made that much clear. 

Neloth narrowed his eyes slightly, before walking over to his bookcase. There was no Black Book in it, but instead, Neloth withdrew a notebook. "In here," he began, "all my research of Black Books are stored. I know where to find one, and it is relatively close. Actually, just inside the closest Dwemer ruin." 

The one infested by bandits, Tekla remembered. Neloth continued, "I can take you there, and I can help you retrieve one, given that I get to examine it myself. I will not enter it, but it will be valuable to my research, and of course, given that you share your full experience of Apocrypha with me!" He looked at her. Tekla nodded. Those were terms she could go with. 

Mere hours later, they were on their way. The bandits themselves proved little no none of a challenge, and the only real annoyance Tekla had was Neloth´s constant ability to stumble upon another artefact to examine. However, patience was something she had in tons. She would wait for him, while answering whatever questions he had. At one moment, a light smile even crossed her lips. This was the sort of man Tamriel needed more of. Just think about how fast the world would progress, if only curiosity and intelligence was handed out to a hundred more individuals. 

"That would be the last one." Neloth picked up the cube. "We will now head back to the first room, where we will, if everything is done right, (which it is, because we got me here), find the Book for our taking."

Tekla nodded. Together they ventured to the room they first entered through. As Neloth had predicted, it was open for their taking. 

"Now, when you read it, you will find yourself in Apocrypha. The realm of Hermaeus Mora. You will probably face dangers, which I hope you will survive, - or else half of the expeditions´ purpose is forfeit." He added, "then again, there would be interesting to observe what will become of your body, should you die in another realm."

Tekla shot him a fierce glare, before opening the book. The first words were clear to her, but not had a not the few second passed, before they swam before her eyes. She jumped in surprise, as tentacles embraced her! "Don't move too much." Was the last thing she heard her Dunmer companion´s irritated voice declare, before her vision turned black. 

When Tekla opened her eyes, she was met, not surprisingly, by rows and rows of books. What did surprise her, though, was the incredible short distance it was to walk. The only place she could guess Mora would want to converse with her on, was the small platform just before her. A big, Black Book lied on the top of an iron pedestal. She could hear it beating. A book with a heart? Or... What could it be? As she was busy observing this new phenomena, she did not notice the presence growing behind her. Not before she turned around, her eyes widened in surprise by the sight that met her. 

Black mist. Tentacles. Glowing, green eyes in the gloomy light of Apocrypha. 

"Hermaeus Mora." She mumbled. 

Moments of silence followed. Tekla watched him carefully. What would he do now? What was his next move? And the most important question: what would it take to beat him?

"Dragonborn." His low voice boomed. Tekla didn't make a move. Mora, on the other hand, studied her with interest. "I have been watching you.

"The illusion you give of affection is... Inspiring." He said. "Illusion? The illusion you give of invincibility," she replied, "is wasted on me. How easily do you think I can see through you...?" 

"As easily as I can beat you at your own game..." He smiled. 

Tekla shrugged. "You may try." 

"And you will attempt to defeat my champion. As it is written. And you will take his place, as it is written." 

Tekla didn't reply to this. There wasn't anything to say that hadn't already crossed the mind of both of them. She surveyed her surroundings. Could she jump from this distance? Yes she could, she could jump over to the bookcase closest to her, and from there on land on the Lurker beneath it. It wouldn't be comfortable, but she needed a way down. 

Meanwhile, Mora continued his speech. "Now, the second word of power, which you did not even know you ne-" 

"I know the Shout." She interrupted him, sending him a fierce glare. "And I will not be in debt to you, Herma-Mora, alas, I don't accept it." 

That was a lie. She knew the language, but it didn't mean she knew which words to use. However, she thought to herself, she wouldn't need it either. Shouting at people to bending their will seemed so barbaric. Why not talk formally to them? 

"You will need it, Dragonborn. If you wish to save all mortals you care so deeply for..." The Daedra replied. She gritted her teeth. He just had to use that against her... And he couldn´t give a care less about her plane. 

"What do you think this is, exactly?" She snarled, "trickster games of callosity and compassion among "gods"?". She could feel the Daedra smile as he replied, in a soothing, slow voice. "A game, of which you have already," he paused, "lost." She shrugged. "Far from it." She mumbled, mostly to herself. But it was true. If the people of her planet remained safe, she would remain happy, having accomplished what she sought. Taking the form of a woman, for a benefit or not, had provided her with the love of a mother. If only.... She thought, had these emotions not gotten in the way... Then she could reclaim her position as "The Trickster", once more with pride. 

Hermaeus Mora continued, "now, Shezzarine, the Trickster, and Dragonborn. Conquerer of Tamriel, and its creator... You wish to see Miraak himself... You wish to defeat him yourself. Without the interference of his master..."

Yes she did. 

"You will have no trouble defeating him, I am sure..." Sure he was... She sighed. "Which is why I will lead you to him." Tekla´s eyes widened. 

"Go, Trickster. And you will find the path open." The demon of knowledge faded away, leaving a very surprised immortal behind. Tekla blinked. Was it that easy? It couldn't be... That was too unexpected. She pondered over this. Was it a trap? Obviously. Should she fall for it? 

She hesitated. 

Obviously. 

There was too much at stake. 

She was growing soft. 

She was rooting for them. These mortals. 

She understood why Aedra always kept their distance. 

Tekla began moving. The Daedra had not lied, the outlay of Apocrypha had changed. She encountered no Lurkers, and no Seekers on her way. Perhaps this was why mortal souls spent centuries searching for their lost knowledge. Because they would not find it before the Daedra was done laughing of them. Before he wished them to find the way... 

After what felt like hours of walking, she encountered something new. It was a dragon. He lied sleeping on his side, his scales were a beautiful shade of blue. Tekla understood enough, and slapped the dragon gently. His eyes opened slightly. "Wake up, dragon dear, you are taking me to your master." 

The dragon stared dumbfounded at her with glassy eyes. Tekla seised the opportunity to climb up on his back. She patted his head gently. "Now, dragon dear, your life here have not been easy on you. But your master needs me, and will reward you greatly if you take me to him." She paused for a  second. "Freedom," she continued in Dovahzuul. "Do you wish to feel it again?"  

It did take longer than that, but the dragon lifted up in the air eventually. He soared over the bookcases, either dreaming about soaring over the skies, or perhaps nothing at all. His mind might very well have been erased completely. Almost, she corrected herself. Or else communication at all would have been difficult. She did feel a little bit bad about what she was going to do, though, but then again, that glassy look in his eyes told her that his life was no longer worth living. 

"Sahrotaar," a masculine voice called out. "Are you so easily swayed?" Tekla cast a look down. That had to be Miraak. He stood by the centre of a great platform, surrounded by acid water. Two other dragons sat on pillars behind him. They had to be important, she figured, or he would have sent them away, or perhaps he simply didn't have the time...? The dragons lifted form their positions. They flew lowly over the area, circling around her.

"Not yet," Miraak informed the dragons. "We should greet our guest first." 

Before the masked Dovahkiin could finish the sentence, Tekla planted her sword firmly in the dragon's back, severing the muscles connecting the wings to the body. Sahrotaar roared in pain, before throwing her off. Tekla landed firmly on the platform, and inspected the dragon. She could finish him off now, which would narrow Miraak's escape routes down with one, as well as weakening his defence.

Before she had finished the thought, she was struck by lightning. Staggered, she stumbled backwards, silently cursing herself. You do not take your focus off of the opponent. 

Still, she thought, this battle would be over quickly if she just finished off the dragons. Dodging another spell, she ran towards the injured, blue dragon. She jumped up on his neck, grabbed her sword, which had gotten stuck in his back, and managed to tear it away, if not with some difficulty. 

Miraak fired another spell of lightning towards her. She grunted slightly in pain as it hit her. Hit twice. They weren't even a minute out in the battle. Should she focus on him first after all? 

No. She would go through with the plan. She evades the jaws of Saheotaar, before impaling his eye on her sword. The dragon roared in pain. Not that it mattered. He was already dying. 

Tekla jumped off of him, and turned to face her fellow Dragonborn opponent,

She dodged the attack with some difficulty, before showering him in flames. Miraak staggered backwards, and Tekla took advantage of this by slashing through his robes with her blade. 

She smirked lightly, before hauling a fireball off in the direction of the waiting  dragon. He attempted to take off from his pillar, but the instant he soared over them, she brought him down, using the same words that had slain Alduin. Miraak watched in silence. He hadn't made a move yet, but now he began to walk across the platform towards them. 

Tekla was quick to raise her blade and make a deep cut in the dragon's wing, once again rendering escape impossible. 

Miraak shrugged. He still had one dragon left, and besides, he couldn't afford to let his opponent know of his uncertainty. 

Suddenly he darted to one side, sending a blow towards her with his sword. He was still two arm lengths away, and so Tekla didn't evade the attack. That was a mistake. Tentacles slashed towards her. Their acid burned through the thin leather armour. Tekla grunted in pain. he was far better of an opponent than what she had expected from someone locked up for five thousand years, but she would not let that get the better of her. It was time to end this. 

\------------------------------------------

"Thank you, dear. We didn't even see that threat coming. But you took care of it even so!" The Dunmer smiled. She did know his name, (and had never bothered to learn it), but if he was happy with her actions, she guessed she was supposed to keep a bright smile herself. Unfortunately, Tekla did not have a habit of smiling, and there wasn't even a reason for it now. 

"He still won." She mumbled. 

"Pardon?" 

"He still won. That demon..." She gritted her teeth. Yes, he had won, and she had only herself to blame for that. Before the Dunmer could say another word, she had turned on her heels and walked off. 

Tekla had to take a deep breath and restrain herself from not breaking the door down. Instead, she knocked gently on it. Another Dunme woman opened. "Yes hello?" Her face brightened up as she saw who her guess was. "Miss Eldom! What a wonderful surprise! We didn't expect to see you here!" She turned and called for her husband, "Crescius, dear! We have a guest!" The older man entered the living room behind her. 

"Evening," he nodded, "to what do we owe the honour?" 

"I need to speak to your son." She answered. 

"Our son?" Aphia looked confused. "Yes, your son. Magnus." Tekla explained. Aphia laughed softly. "You know, we don't have a son, but if we ever had one, and it befell to me, there is no way in all the realms of Oblivion that I´d name him Magnus," she joked. Crescius hammered softly, "it´s a long story." 

Tekla stood frozen on the spot. Could it be? Had he managed to...? 

"No, but we did attempt to get a son, you know, but it´s as if-" Aphia turned back to look at Tekla. "Where did she go?" She pondered. 

Tekla ran over the ashen wastelands. They did not have a son!? She cursed under her breath. What a fool she had been! Playing right after his pipe all along. He had led her astray, tempted her with traps and offers. She had believed herself to follow her own path, but no! How could she have been so stupid!? It was like... It was like... She sank to her knees. 

Just like Miraak. 

Had he ever felt like this? 

Had he ever found himself, in the realisation that he was being played? Like a pawn? 

Probably. 

Probably in the moment she impaled him with her sword. 

She gritted her teeth. She could not let that demon see her like this. Not in such a moment of weakness.

Tekla raised to her feet. She brushed the dust off he clothes, and in this sudden moment, she actually smiled. "You´ve got me there, Daedra." She said out aloud. "But the game has only just begun," she smirked.


	6. Azura - Cruelty

(Before starting this, I would like to note that I have never played Morrowind, although I would want to, and so all information is gathered from YouTube videos and Wikipedia sites. Also, I´m testing out a new style, where I don't write certain events.)

Methredil was a Dunmer born without a surname. She was not born into a House, or a Tribe. She was born from uncertain parents, who probably viewed her as the failure and mistake of their lives, and so left her to die on the shore. 

It was on the shore that she first met the friend and saviour of her life. Minya was another orphan, or she she would like to think. A small Imperial with no other ambitions in life than staying alive. She did not want anything to do with the little Dunmer girl, but Methredil followed in her steps as they walked across the ashy beach, determined to make a friend. 

This was the story of their lives. Methredil running after Minya over the ashy wasteland, the latter without a care in the world, the first willing to throw herself in front of an arrow for her friend. Taken that she´s catch up with her in time, seeing as Minya was quite fast.

Minya´s speed served her well in the days of childhood. Without parents to lecture them about right and wrong, food stalls were as legal of a food source as hard, decent work was. However, the little Dunmer was far from as fast as her older friend, and did often get caught. You might say that it was only in these moments that Menya contributed to their friendship by breaking her out of whatever room she was locked in, but... That would've been a lie. Minya was simply enough a person with little to no regards for others, but if she were to show affection, it would be in the form of small smiles, food, small wooden toys she had built for her friend using her little knife, or similar, simple gestures. 

This was why Methredil kept running after her. They were friends. 

"Minya!" The Imperial was tackled to the ground in a bone-breaking hug. "You´ve grown strong," she noted. Methredil´s face broke up in a wide smile. "I was so worried I´d never see you again!" 

"Well, here I am, so- OUCH!" A backpack had been thrown towards her head, and hit it. "Never let me see you here again, Empire´s bootlicker!" The Dunmer guard yelled after her. "Pardoned by the Emperor..." He mumbled angrily as he turned, "just ´cause she´s a freakin´ Imperial, and Outlander..." 

Mine shot his back a deadly glare as she picked up her backpack. Methredil was staring at her with wide eyes. "Is that true...? You were pardoned by the Emperor?" 

"Apparently." Minya shrugged. "He probably messed up, and got the wrong person. But I´m not going back to complain about it!"

Methredil laughed a hearty laugh. Except for this sudden release by high orders, everything seemed to be going back to normal. She had been terrified when she heard of her captivation, and wrong person or not, she felt a rush of gratitude towards the ruler of the Empire. 

Things seemed to be back to the normal, for about three hours. After a bath by the beach, they had to steal water to wash the dust off of them, and decided to grab something to eat all the same. However, as Minya packed the remaining ash jam down in her backpack, her hands came in contact with a paper. 

"What is it?" Methredil asked. "It´s a letter... Sealed with the Septim seal.... And a package." Minya noted. Methredil felt uncertainty rise. "And what does it stand?" 

"No idea, I can't read." Minya replied sheepishly. Methredil laughed softly, as she had forgotten that obvious fact for a second. How would orphans on the street learn how to read? 

"I guess we´ll need to find someone who can read, then!" 

"That´s about everyone else except for us." 

Finding someone who knew the great art of deciphering letters was not on their list of immediate priorities, however. Even if both were aching with curiosity. Truth to be told, it took several days before they decided it was worth the trouble. They couldn't have just anyone read it of course, seeing as it was sealed with a royal seal. 

Now, Daedra have an eternity, (a little joke of Sheogorath´s), but at the moment, time was short of supply. And seeing as this fan fiction is dedicated to Azura, I believe it is time for her entree. 

She came in the night. 

Methredil awoke to hear the voice of a woman. As her eyes fluttered open, she let out a shriek of surprise. The instant after, Minya was on her feet, her knife drawn. 

Before them stood a spectral woman. Her eyes were a dark shade of bloody red, but that was about the only colour they could make out from the spectral form. They could see that she were quite beautiful, her dark hair tied up behind her head. She wore a long dress over her slender form. Her lips were twisted in a mocking smile. "Mortal. You have been given a quest. Why have you not yet set out on it?" The question was directed to Minya. Said Imperial shot her a suspicious glance. "And who are you, my grace, if I may ask?" Minya guessed she was of a high position, but the sarcasm in her voice was unmistakable. 

The spectral form didn´t seem to appreciate it. "Mortal, you stand before the Twilight Star. The Mother of the Rose, and Queen of the Night sky!" She declared, "I am Azura, your new Mistress, and immortal deity of the Dusk and Dawn! Bask in the glory it is to witness me, and heed my words!" 

Minya´s eyes widened slightly, before she gave Azura a glare. Methredil did by now see that this was not going very well. She stepped up between them to indulge in her diplomatic skills. "Your grace, it truly is an honour. But... We expect that this quest of ours were given in the letter? Well, as much as we´d love to stand to your disposal... None of us can read." 

Azura stared dumbfounded at her. Couldn´t read?! What sort of champion was supposed to set out on an epic quest to save the world without the most basic, fundamental skills of any mortals, whilst only armed with a knife!? 

Methredil laughed awkwardly. "So... You see, your grace, we are mere orphans of the street. We lack many skills required to be of any help to such a mighty presence as your own." 

Azura could only agree to this, and yet, if they were orphans of the street, at least they knew the ways of the world better than any spoiled brat who might have gotten thrown in jail for drinking too much. 

"You will still be of use to me, mortals, despite your flaws." Minya rolled her eyes behind Methredil´s back. Luckily this went unnoticed by the Daedra. "Then I will set you out on this quest personally. Go to Caius Cosades. He resides in Balmora. From there on, you will deliver the package and letter. He will set you on your paths further on from there. Now heed my command, because my punishment for treason is swift, and without mercy." Azura shot a quick glance towards Minya by these words, before she transcended into the skies in a blinding light, and was gone. The only remains of her presence was seen as a beautiful star, gleaming just above the horizon, witnessing of the days that was to come. 

Methredil stood left, mouth open. 

Minya had stumbled backwards due to the light, and had in the process tripped over her backpack. "The least she could do was to leave us with our eyesight..." She mumbled. 

\------------------------------------

It was not too long after, that two women stumbled up the stairs to a small, cottage-like house. Methredil knocked on the door gently, before casting a worried glance over at her friend. Minya had barely spoken since the night the Queen of the Night Sky had appeared. Minya was not usually the most talkative person, but an aura of unease had been hanging around her ever since that night. Yet Methredil could not tell wether she was confused, scared, or very irritated. Her friend had never been fond of orders. They had been living free lives on the street all their days, and now, all of sudden, the presence of a god had demanded their obedient consent without as much as an explanation. 

Things like that tended to go on Minya´s nerves. 

Methredil´s thoughts and worries were interrupted by the door opening. There stood a man there, half naked, and his face painted with a sour expression. An expression that witnesses of someone used to taking orders.

Methredil saw that he and Minya would have trouble getting along. 

She was very much right. 

\-----------------------------------

"No, no, no, no, and a hundred more no´s!" 

"But Minya, you can't just-"

"I do what I want! It´s what I´ve been doing my whole life, and it has worked well!" 

"But Minya! It´s a Daedra, a prophecy, and-"

"What do they deserve?!" Minya whirled around to face her friend. "What exactly does the Dunmeri people deserve from me!? And what exactly have the great Mistress done to deserve my trust and devotion!?" 

Methredil´s eyes narrowed. "She´s a deity, she should not need to prove herself for a mor-"

"But you have!" Methredil silenced. "You have, Methra," Minya continued, "you´ve been my friend! I didn´t want you as friend, but you followed me on that beach! Your determination, you devotion, that was what made me like you! I don´t like either of these people, and no, they dont need to prove themselves for me, unless, they're looking for me to devote my life for them! Can´t you understand that logic?" 

Methredil looked down for a second. "I understand... But. That´s not how simple the world is! Not even for us! We can't always do what we want, and we can't judge the whole Dunmeri people like that. There are people worth saving!" 

"Like whom?"

"Like me!" 

Minya looked shocked for a moment. Methredil had always set herself outside her race´s culture. So had she. None of them owed anything to their species, in her view. But... Maybe that wasn't how it was for Methredil. Had she ever asked her? 

"But it´s not only that," Methredil continued. "Don´t you see? You can finally become something?" 

Minya locked their eyes together again. 

"Because, I´m guessing it must be very overwhelming? I mean, you were an orphan. Someone... The world couldn´t care less for.." Methredil swallowed, "and now, you're the saviour of our realm! Slaying the evil god, saving the world. You're the centre of attention among mortals and immortals. Important. Everyone cares." 

Minya smiled grimly, "too bad I don´t care then."

The Dunmer woman laughed softly, yet uncertain. "What do you mean? How could you not care? I mean... You were destined for greatness!"

"I was destined to be the scum of the earth, and the failed "heroine" who laughed as she watched the world burn." Minya smiled back.

"No, you weren't! You're a good person!"

"How do you know? I never talked much, I didn't even ask you what your opinion of races were." 

"I simply belive that selfishness if going to destroy the world. So then... Why don´t you care, exactly?" She whispered softly. Minya shrugged, "I´m simply a terrible person." 

"Well I believe that even the worst person can change!" Methredil replied sternly. "Then you're an idiot. Like the rest," Minya smiled. "Besides, what´s so wrong with Dagoth Ur conquering the world? Better him than... Molag Bal, for example."

"There´s nothing good at all with Dagoth Ur taking over the world! It´s a terrible plan to go after! Especially when you could do something! You could for example save us! Like you always did with me! Didn't you promise to protect me? What about the rest then?"

Minya stared angrily at her. "Words, Methredil. Those were just words. To me, they dont mean anything! I said it to make you happy! And it worked, temporarily, so why won't you just for once leave me alone?!" The woman stormed off. she almost flew over the ashen wasteland, her feet barely touching the ground. Methredil stood left back for a second, before storming after her. What did she expect? For her to give up on her? She was tragically mistaken. 

\------------------------------

Methredil set after her friend. Determined to do... something, she guessed. What it was she hoped to accomplish, Azura was not quite sure of. Mortals were complicated that way, and awfully persistent. But whatever actually went on inside their funny little heads, she was sure of that she could use it. 

The Nerevarine did not wish to defeat Dagoth Ur, as the prophecy predicted her to do. This was a problem. A more irritating matter was the fact that the False Tribunal of mortal gods would continue their existence if Menya refused to fight. But... There were plenty of strings to pull, she reassured herself. Dagoth would fall one way or another...

She did already have her clever plot planned out. First of, she would need to contact the Telvanni wizard of Tel Fyr, and inform him of the importance it was to welcome a certain guest. This would need to be done discreetly, as there was no reason to leave behind proofs of her interference. 

Now, she needed one willing mortal. One who were willing to risk everything for her beloved friend. This mortal was to approach her rival, in his city. Vivec would not let her pass, an so she needed a messenger. Besides, showing up in person would be to grant him too much of an honour, it would seem to him that she was desperate if she was to show up herself. 

And of course, seeing as it were Daedra we were talking about, it was important to do it all in style. This was why Methredil this night, after a failed attempt to keep up with her friend, had decided to sleep beneath one of the many mushrooms that painted the country´s atmosphere. 

Unknown to her, a spectral shape stepped out of the shadows. She loomed over the sleeping Dunmer for a moment, before speaking. "Mortal. You are summoned, awake." Methredil´s eyes shut open, she raised from her position, before her gaze fell on the spectral Daedra. "Your grace!" She quickly got to her feet. "Wh... What can I do for you?" 

Azura smiled, after which Methredil seemed a little more relaxed. "Mortal, I have woken you from your slumber, to inquire the whereabouts of your comrade." 

Methredil looked down for a second, "Your grace, she doesn't... She doesn't wish to save the realm." 

"I am aware." Azura continued, "I have been watching the two of you closely, and I see, that whilst the Nerevarine does not wish to contribute to our cause, you show great promise."

Methredil smiled sadly, "I am flattered, your grace, but it won't help, unless Minya is ready to do what must be done." 

"Minya will do what must be done, if so you are willing to do the same."

"What do you mean, your grace?" 

Yet again, Azura smiled warmly. "I will set you out on a quest, mortal. You will seek out the false god of the Dunmeri, and member of the Tribunal; Vivec. It is him you must persuade to grant you the Wraithguard. That will not be easy, as he will not surrender them to any one but the true Nerevarine. But you will go with my blessing, and I will guide you on the path." Methredil smiled weakly. "I... I have faith in you, my grace, but-"

"If the faith you speak of is dedicated to me, then you are also without doubts," The Daedra added, "now go, soon enough, Dagoth Ur´s god will be complete, and by that, the world will be lost. Make haste, and know that I will be watching."

The Queen of the Night Sky faded away before Methredil could utter another word. The Dunmer stood left, in shock, with a trembling fear rising in her chest. 

Azura knew that she had been lying. How could she put her faith in a Daedra? But there was no time to ponder over this, she had to make haste, and come up with a plan as she travelled. 

Originally, she had intended to stay in the area until Minya returned, but she couldn't wait for her friend now. Instead, she quickly gathered the small amount of her belongings, and went off. 

\------------------------------------

Whilst Methredil made her way across Morrowind, Minya was battling against the clock. 

It had not been her intention to run straight into the disease-infested area, but as she had ran, she had not though of where she was running. She had run straight into an abandoned, small settlement, whereas whatever citizens had once lived there, was now... quite dead, lying in piles. Minya had covered her nose, and poked lightly on one of the bodies. What she guessed this was, was that terrible disease that had plagued the land. Little did she know that she was just about to complete another part of the prophecy set out before her. 

It wasn't too much later, that Minya had stumbled into the cottage of Caius Cosades, of whom had shot her a dark look, and quickly given her directions to Tel Fyr, where she was to meet with a rather interesting figure. The last living remains of the Dwevmer species. 

At first, she had been exited to go. But after only a few hours, she had already felt the disease taking hold of her. She had quickened her steps, determined to succeed in the one goal she actually had in life; staying alive. 

Another few hours later, she had stumbled into Tel Fyr, where she had explained the situation. An old Dunmeri wizard had led her downstairs to meet with the Dwemer. He had eyed her suspiciously, but not said much. 

The meeting with the Dwemer Yargrum Bagarn went successfully. He had offered her an experimental cure. Now it so happened that Minya was fond of experiments, and quite willing to risk her life to win it back as well. 

Minya survived, much of Bagarn´s satisfaction. He had found his experimental rabbit, conducted the experiment, and the rabbit had won its life back. 

Minya exited Tel Fyr, filled with newfound determination to live, and strength to carry on. She was probably going to need it. 

Many say that three is a lucky number, and this time too, it certainly was. Because when many find happiness, it usually means that there is someone unhappy out there alongside with this. The third time Azura contacted either of the friends, she were bearing ill news for the Imperial, whilst she herself, could barely retain her smirk.

"Nerevarine. You have not done well," Minya actually sighed as she turned to meet the princess. "You have not heeded my commands, you have not fulfilled your quests." Azura sighed slightly, "then I judged that a replacement was needed." A replacement? Minya didn't quite like where this was going. "Someone who were willing to lie down their lives for another person, for another realm. Someone who were willing to risk their own mortal, fleeting lives for the greater good. And someone like that has in this moment succeeded where you have failed." Minya shrugged. "I advice you not to take this lightly, mortal." Azura´s eyes darkened. They glowed with an inner fury, "because I once warned you, that the punishment would be swift and without mercy."

Minya remained silent. She didn't know what the Daedra was to do next. Kill her? Drag her soul out? She felt, although she´d never admit it, scared. Helpless. Azura smirked, "Your comrade and companion would've done an excellent replacement, but she is not the Nerevarine. She will still age, she has not survived the Corprus disease." 

Minya´s eyes widened. The world seemed to slow down, as she felt her blood become cold as ice. Fear turned to terror in an instant. 

Methredil. 

She were in danger. 

"She is on her way to face your enemy as we speak, the weapons she carries, a result of theft, and my blessing. Indeed, as none of you can read, you have developed other skills over the years, as I´ve found useful for our cause." Azura didn't have Minya´s attention. The Imperial turned on the spot. She set off towards Red Mountain. Vvardenfell was a big island, but the mountain was not too far off. She could still make it! She could still stop her beloved friend. 

Tears rushed down her cheeks. She shouldn't have yelled to her the last thing she did. She shouldn't have run off. She should've waited for her. She should've waited for her more than once. And she should've burned that letter. She should've... Should have... 

Minya slowed down. As much as she wanted to, she couldn't run forever. In front of her lied a settlement. They had horses there, right? She had never learned how to ride, but in a matter of life or death, she was quite certain she could learn very fast. 

Before the Dunmer could open his mouth, Minya had thrown herself onto the closest horse, and planted her heels in the horses´side. She had only witnesses this before, but knew the basics. 

Luckily for her, the horse was quite obedient, in truth, it was as if it already knew where their destination was. Minya did not question this at the moment, as her mind was clouded with fear, but later on, she did. 

The horse set off, it was a the world simply flew passed her in blurred colours. She was riding up the mountain, here and there small paths had been created over time. Minya reached the Dwemer citadel. She threw herself off, before setting off into the mountain. She dashed past confused enemies, of whom did conveniently enough not pay any heed to their surroundings at the moment. 

Minya panted heavily. She felt her stamina drain. Her vision blurred slightly, and in a moment of dizziness, she tripped. She landed face-down on something soft. Slowly she raised, and opened her eyes. 

Dead, red eyes stared back at her. 

Minya screamed, she threw herself off the dead figure. It was a Dunmer, with ragged, bloody clothes, covered in dust. 

"Methredil...?" 

Minya whispered her name softly. Was that her? It seemed so familiar. No, that couldn't be her! 

"Minya?" 

She looked up. "Methredil!" New tears formed in her eyes. "You... You're not... Dead."

Methredil smiled. "You came back."

Minya nodded. Methredil opened her mouth to say something, before suddenly her eyes widened in horror. Blood trailed down her chin. She gasped, before falling. 

Minya was in shock. 

"And so falls the great Nerevarine. Destined to die, it seems." A deep voice echoed through the cavern. Minya looked up. 

Before her stood a masked, thin man. His hand held a bloodied sword. For a moment, all Minya could feel was emptiness. 

"And by that, I must also ponder on, why you are here?" This had to be Dagoth Ur. He spoke to her, but the words seemed distant. A cold, wrathful fury built up within the woman. Her eyes fell on the three weapons, of which had lied in Methredil´s hands. 

Minya looked up at the godly presence. He seemed to be waiting for an answer. Had he asked her a question? No matter. She had one for him. 

"Do you want to know what death feels like?" Dagoth Ur took a step backwards. Perhaps this young woman was a friend of the Nerevarine? She looked quite pissed of. Furious, actually. He readied his weapon, and not a second too late! Minya had already picked up Sunder and delivered a blow right down on his arm! Dagoth staggered backwards, and Minya would've used this moment to deliver another blow, had not a piercing pain shot through her body. She dropped Sunder, and instead for attacking, she sank down by Methredil´s body and attempted to remove the Wraithguard. Without it, using Keening and Sunder would result in death. Dagoth came towards her, and Minya dodged his attack by rolling to the side. 

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the Heart of Lorkhan. "The source of his power," Caius had stated. Minya chanced it. She picked up Sunder and with one last effort of her remaining strength, she hauled the hammer towards the Heart. It landed about a metre away, dangerously close to the edge. 

Minya panted. She was not ready for this battle, but she wasn't ready to die either! She dodged another attack, and before losing another strap of the Wraithguard. Dagoth had stopped. He stared dumbfounded at her, clearly not understanding how a simple mortal could even attempt on killing a god where the prophesied hero had failed. he lowered his weapon.

Minya removed the Wraithguard. It was too big for her, and slowed her down considerably, she noted. She looked up to meet Dagoth´s mask. Her eyes were filled with the determination of a mortal who was not ready to give up on life. Dagoth smiled beneath the mask. He knew that feeling. But he had never known the overflowing hatred Minya now felt. For him, for Azura, for this damn gauntlet weighing her down. For herself. 

The gauntlet went the same way as Sunder. This time her aim was more precise, and some of her strength had returned from the brief pause. Dagoth sighed, seeing he had to finish this mortal off after all. He moved towards her, not caring much for the fact that she was throwing her weapons away. Even if it was towards the Heart. The Nerevarine was dead. What had he to fear? 

Minya panted heavily. She was still lowered on the ground, clearly not looking up for a battle. Dagoth raised his weapon. 

In that instant moment, Minya picked up the short sword Keening. She threw herself against him, crashed into his chest, and before Dagoth could react, she planted the sword firmly in his throat. 

Minya side-stepped out of the way as he fell over. Keening felt as if it naturally belonged in her palm. It did for about two seconds, before the pain shut through her again, and she dropped it. She looked down at Dagoth. He wouldn't stay dead for long, she had to finish off the source of power. 

A lone tear fell from her eye. In the heat of the battle, she had forgotten her dear friend. Minya cast a look over at Methredil. Or what was visible of her under Dagoth Ur. She threw Keening closer to the Heart before walking over there herself. She had to finish this off once and fro all. 

As the Imperial landed blow after blow on the Heart, she thought about her life. She couldn't see the Heart anymore. One moment, it was Dagoth Ur. Another moment, and it was the one who had staged it all, who had killed her friend and ruined her mortal life. That damned Daedra. Another moment, and it was the guard who had thrown the sack at her, or it was that one man who had several years back who had beaten Methredil for the crime of stealing. In truth, to Minya, it was about every person who had plagued their life and friendship. 

When she saw herself, the Heart shattered.


End file.
